


Hush, My Baby, Make No Sound

by gyromitra



Series: Drabble Things that might be continued or not [8]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Noir, Anachronistic, Complicated Relationships, Fun With Femme Fatale & Homme Fatale Archetypes, Implied Bad Life Choices, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sex Work, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-10-18 12:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20639255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyromitra/pseuds/gyromitra
Summary: What do you do if your ex-lover who dumped you to marry for money comes to you seeking your help in a delicate matter?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay - so, the first ficlet I wrote as a 'hook' for the story I had rattling around my brain for more than a year. The remaining three were written as tw*tter threads because of a singe interested and slightly enthusiastic Anon I'd received in response to the 'hook'. They are only slightly edited (and put in chronological order) because I don't hate them that much. The setting itself is ahistorical and features at the same time the Omnics and the Great War. Maybe You will also find something interesting in those ficlets :)

“That one, he’s bad news.” Amelie clicks her tongue at him and leans in with her elbows firmly on the polished wood of the counter. “Don’t ignore me. You know the type, and how the story goes,” she continues when Gabriel finally turns back to face her. “You get between his legs, or get him between yours, and voila, heartbreak, someone dies. Dangerous game, it is.”

“It’s how the story goes,” Gabriel chuckles and raises his glass to the pictures on the wall behind her. All forgotten less than an hour later when he has Jack’s lips wrapped around his cock, in the small dressing-room in the back of the lounge’s stage.

Five years later, with Jack sitting in his office, Gabriel really wishes he had listened to her there and then.

“I guess this is not a courtesy call.”

“I want to hire you,” Jack speaks, the tone slightly clipped, and head turned to the side. Right hand restless on his own knee, diamonds in that gaudy bracelet he’s never without glittering with each jerky movement.

“I don’t want his money. Get out, Jack.” Gabriel pours himself a glass.

“I… I’d been sent pictures. Of me, and one other person, together. If…” Jack finally looks at him. Desperation and fear, something Gabriel had seen only once before in his eyes but Jack… Jack had always been a great actor, faking anything, and everything. “If Akande gets those pictures, he will have them killed.”

“Why would I care about whoever you’re fucking behind Ogundimu’s back?” In the back of mind, Gabriel knows he is being cruel for cruelty’s sake, and it feels good to see Jack wince at his words.

“No. No, you wouldn’t.” Jack casts his eyes down – but then, after a short pause, speaks again. “After he’s done with them, he will kill me, and it won’t be nice.”

Gabriel knows what he means. He gulps the whiskey in the glass in one go, and slams it on the desk.

“Give it to me.” Slowly, Jack stands up and comes closer, to slide crumpled paper taken out of his handbag over the flat surface of the mahogany. An envelope. “And the pictures?”

“I burnt them. Thank you.”

“Just get the fuck out.”

Gabriel spends the rest of the day drinking until he cannot keep steady on his legs – to try drink away the sickness Jack spreads – but deep down he knows he’s still the same lovesick fool he had been five years ago.

*

Gabriel stops in the corridor. The little scrap of packing paper that he always leaves on top of the door lies on the floor, and the handle droops slightly, which means his office is unlocked. He digs in his coat pocket for his revolver.

Slowly, he pushes the handle down and opens the door, stopping just before the upper hinge creaks, enough for him to see the inside of the room and slip in without the sound. There doesn't seem to be anything out of place except for the old couch he keeps out of convenience.

From the bundle of blankets lying on it, one leg sticks out. Gabriel creeps closer, careful to make no sound, his grip on the revolver’s handle relaxing because only one person he would expect to break in to sleep in his office. Jack.

He stops by the couch to take the whole picture in: busted lips, bruises creeping with color, a definite handprint on his neck, and defensive marks on the visible forearm. It doesn’t sit right with him because Jack knows how to protect himself. Whoever did all that, got him in a position he couldn't. Gabriel treads his footsteps back to the door and opens it wide - letting the hinge squeal - then closes it with a slam, to give Jack time to wake up. He shuffles on the couch and changes his position to hide the damage.

"Let myself in," Jack sleepily announces. "Sorry. Needed a place to crash. Was the closest."

"At least, you didn't break my lock this time."

"Really tried not to." Jack shifts again when Gabriel sits down on the armrest. "This time."

"Who was it?"

"It's nothing." Jack shrugs under the blankets. "Happens sometimes."

"You'll be sporting those for a week. Who was it?" Gabriel presses, more demanding, and Jack sits up with a heavy sigh - avoiding his eyes and pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

"Archie Fisher."

"Archibald Roderick Fisher Junior. You brought him back to your flat?"

There's the shrug again.

"I'd been stupid. That's all."

"Stay here. There's bourbon behind Homer if you want." Gabriel gets up. "I'll be back soon."

He can feel Jack's suspicious gaze on his back as he leaves.

For a moment, it feels good to let Reaper slip in and have his knuckles slick with blood. He makes sure ‘Archie’ will piss himself even before thinking of ever doing anything like that, to anyone. Only after he washes up the nausea hits and on the way back he buys another bottle. At the office, Jack’s asleep again. The bourbon - the bottle only and no glass - stands on the carpet by the couch. Only a small amount is missing. This time Gabriel sits by Jack’s legs, satisfied by a small grunt of acknowledgment he gets when the cushions dip under him.

“Archie has been properly apologetic.” Gabriel holds up a wad of notes held together with a gold clip. Jack stares at him with his face scrunched up in a deadpan look.

“Keep it,” he finally mutters.

“Not my money.” Gabriel drops the notes on the blanket.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

A week later, staring at the monstrosity of a desk in his office (and his old one nowhere in sight), he thinks he should have taken Jack up on his offer.

"Jack. What...?"

"A desk. You needed a proper one," Jack answers gleefully from where he's perched on the top of it.

"I can see it's a desk."

"It's mahogany." Jack pushes out his lower lip, which gives him a pouty kind of face, and leans back a bit while sliding his legs apart. "Don't you want to give it a try? I might bite," he adds, his voice dropping to a haughty whisper.

*

Jack shuts the lid of the jewelry box with a delicate push, just enough for the latch to catch on with a quiet click, and brings up his eyes to stare at the reflection in the mirror. Tired. Burned out. Resigned. A singing bird in a gilded cage. Two years. Two years that make him want to put his fist through the mirror - not that he had not done that once before, and the memory of the cuts on his hand tickles inside his skin urging him to repeat the action until a voice from the bedroom calls to him. It takes a moment to school his expression into a complacent one, the eyes slightly lidded and corners of his mouth raised. Another breath and he finds himself answering.

"Don't get impatient."

Five steps, the measure of his privacy, and the distance to the door - Jack crosses it briskly to stop only at the foot of the bed where Akande lies on his side, propped on his elbow. Looking expectantly.

"Where did you disappear to in the club?"

"I like it when you're being jealous." Jack chuckles slipping off the negligee - letting it slowly slide down his arms. "Don't think I had not noticed the way you'd been looking at the girls from the choir," he adds while climbing into the bed. Akande's fingers curl around his neck, the potential threat unspoken, and Jack leans his head back, lips parted seductively.

"So?"

"Saying hello to an old friend, love." Jack lets his fingertips trace along the intricate tattoo lines on Akande's arm.

"Old friend?" The hand moves from his neck, slowly, downwards.

"You know I only have eyes for you, don't you?"

"Do I?"

"Yes, you..." Jack gasps at the touch and bites his lip.

"Good. Then I don't have to cancel the plans for the coming week."

"Oh, no, certainly not," Jack buries the side of his face into the pillow, words spilling from his mouth slightly muffled and slurred, "I can't wait, to see, what you have planned for our anniversary."

"Something to amaze even you."

Later, as the sleep eludes him, Jack lies with his eyes closed, and the weight of Akande’s arm pinning him to the bed. The smell of burning paper is everywhere, and his thoughts return to the crumpled envelope hidden in the small handbag.

*

The afternoon’s humid heat does not want to give way to the evening’s cool, and so they lie in the bed with the sheets tangled at their feet. Jack’s left hand dangles off the side, close to the floor, the lit cigarette held between his fingers. It fills the room with the smell of expensive tobacco - the smoke lazily wafts towards the ceiling.

Coming down from his daze, only now Gabriel considers the gravity of what had happened, him falling again for those blue eyes against all reason and common sense. He slides his hand along Jack’s thigh to catch his attention and Jack turns his head to look at him.

“Is it safe for you?”

Gabriel observes as Jack lifts the cigarette to his lips and inhales, then breathes out the smoke.

“He’s supposed to come back on Saturday. Might surprise me early on Friday, maybe,” Jack murmurs. “That’s at least two days.”

“Not an answer to my question.”

“As safe as it can be,” Jack adds with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I got you involved in it.”

“I didn’t have to agree.”

Jack turns to lie on his side, facing him, even more defined than two years ago.

“And I played you, Gabe. Plucked your strings. Knowing you wouldn’t use that against me, and you wouldn’t turn me down if my life was on the line.”

Part of him wants to get angry but Gabriel knows this is Jack acting out, defensive, putting on his stage face and trying to push him away regardless of his breakdown earlier. He plucks the cigarette from between Jack’s fingers and takes a drag.

“I know who has the negatives.”

“You do?” Jack immediately perks up, half-raising, propped on his elbow. “You really do.”

“I’ve arranged for a meeting tomorrow. We will see how it goes.”

“Yes.” Jack smiles and takes back the cigarette; he throws it to the floor where the scorch marks from years ago remain. The kiss is sloppy and enthusiastic. Gabriel doesn’t mind Jack straddling his hips again. Not until he rolls them both to reverse their positions.

“I want you to tell me something. The truth.”

“You really want to know who’s in the pictures?” Jack takes a deep breath.

“How old are you?” Momentary confusion disappears behind the mask. “The truth, Jack, not whatever you were going to say.” Gabriel waits as Jack mulls the question over. He has the time.

“Twenty-two.” Jack’s voice has a timid quality to it.

“Christ.”

“You suspected, anyway. She told you my papers were fake.” Jack reaches upwards and sneaks his arms around his neck. “She made a point to mention it to me. Don’t let go of her, she’s a good friend.”

“Old friend.”

“Didn’t stop you then. Why stop now?”

And Gabriel lets himself drown in those eyes, time and time again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. For the record, I had not expected interest, and you all have actually motivated me to write another vinegette. As usual, tw*tter thread - a look back at the relationship. Love you but I'm close to being dead tired.

Amelie rolls her eyes when the phone buzzes and picks up the receiver.

"Allô?" She makes a face as if it's someone utterly disagreeable on the other side and holds it towards Gabriel. "For you," she adds with an exasperated sigh.

"Yeah?" Gabriel inquires when he puts the receiver to his ear.

"Roosevelt, room five-oh-six." He hears the chuckle in what is unmistakably Jack's voice. "Don't keep me waiting for too long."

Immediately after, the click of a dropped call sounds. Gabriel stares for a moment into the remnants of bourbon in his glass.

“Tch. I’ll add it to your tab. Slow night.” Amelie grabs the glass and hides it behind the bar. “At the beck and call, is it now?”

“Something like that.” Gabriel tips his hat at her before leaving the club. Evening chill gives the air the brisk quality best suited for a stroll and, following the paths of hidden alleyways, he takes a little over a quarter of an hour to reach one of the back entrances to the hotel - the one always left unlocked for the bellboys to sneak out to smoke. Moments later he's knocking on the door of the room on the suite floor only to hear a muffled 'come in' from the inside. Jack, dressed in an elegant white shirt and loose trousers, with two glasses of champagne held up in his hands, smiles devilishly.

“Here I thought, you would make me wait because I told you not to.”

Gabriel accepts the drink. His gaze slides over the posh and more kitschy than not furnishings.

“Who’s paying for all this?”

“Somebody.” Jack sips the champagne. “It’s an apology, of sorts.”

“An apology?” Gabriel snorts coming closer.

“Well, we were supposed to go to the opera tonight, but she changed her mind at the last minute and took her husband instead.” Jack puts his glass away. “I hope he’s willing to go on his knees for her. Private box, you see.”

“You seem awfully broken over it.”

“I’d been looking forward to it.” Jack glides to him, hips sashaying and head bowed slightly to the side as he stops and trails his index finger up the sleeve of Gabriel’s jacket. “Anyway. Open tab.”

Gabriel drops his flute - it lands with a dull thump on the carpet - to grab at the duplicitous creature in front of him. Jack laughs into his mouth and drags him back into the bedroom. It’s a fleeting thought, is he fucking Jack in the same bed someone else had done so before? In the afterglow, he doesn’t remember the question he must have asked, but Jack does answer.

“The married ones are the best, they don’t want to get too attached. Women want to be adored, entertained. Appreciated. The men, though, want to be in control. To feel powerful.”

“And me?” He inexplicably asks. Jack raises his head and shifts slightly.

“Trick question.” Jack places his lips just below Gabriel’s collarbone, drags a slow trail of small kisses down his chest. “You want to love. And you don’t want anyone to know about it.”

That's how they spend their night and the following morning, with an intermission for the food delivered by the room service. The tub in the suite is big enough to fit both of them at the same time. Gabriel can't find it in himself to feel angry or resentful. Because the thing about Jack is Gabriel can't and could never provide for the kind of life Jack wants: money coming and going fast without a care in the world, extravagant parties, expensive tobacco, overpriced alcohol, and sparkling stones at his ears. But he wants to.

Of which he reminds himself the next week at the theatre with Jack all but wrapped in blue satin at his arm - that the cost and worth are subjective - and that some things are worth much more than they cost even if they put a dent in his savings. Because the image of Jack Gabriel commits to his memory - of Jack biting down on his own hand to stop himself from making any and all sounds during the aria - is definitely worth the cost of renting the whole box for the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another glimpse into the relationship before it crashes and burns. I wanted to talk about the differences between the femme fatale and homme fatale archetypes but I'm to tired. Again, I promise nothing about any additional content.

The pictures on the wall - most of them of Gerard and Amelie, and one or two odd in the bunch that include Gabriel - crowd the small space at the end of the bar where liquor shelves end abruptly. There’s one another, of their squad, taken on the day they’d arrived on the frontline. The photo lacks the rambunctious attitude they all had the day before, and Liao is missing, the unlucky bastard caught in random shelling before they even had the chance to report to their post. Gabriel drinks to them all.

“You hired an Omnic to wait the tables?”

“Too many strays these days.” Amelie waves her hand dismissively. “She does decent, she can have the job.”

“She.”

“If she wants to be a she, she is a she, c’est si facile.” Amelie scoffs. “Speaking of strays.”

Gabriel needs not raise his head to know whom exactly does she mean. Jack slides into the place he intends to occupy with lively grace, leans on the bar top with his palms flat and far apart on the cold marble. Close enough so that Gabriel could touch him if he wanted to. He wants to. He doesn’t move and only cradles his drink.

“I should ban you from the club,” Amelie mutters under her breath. “More trouble than profit.”

“Love you, too.” Jack laughs. His little finger brushes against Gabriel’s hand by no accident. “Would you send something extremely nice to our table? Pretty please?”

“Tch. Maybe, I do have something for your salaud.”

“I knew I could count on you, the stronger the better.” Jack flashes Gabriel a quick look. In a moment he’s gone, leaving behind the smell of perfume. Amelie turns to the shelf and briefly considers one bottle with a vicious smirk on her face.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” She asks after the Omnic leaves for Jack’s table with the bottle on the tray.

“Why do you still mourn for Gerard?”

“Non, I do not mourn for him, not anymore. I grieve, Gabriel.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I grieve that I, us together, it was never enough. I think back and I grieve, for no matter what I’d do, it was never enough, and it would never be.” Amelie purses her lips. “You. You are torturing yourself. That boy, he is no good for you, and you let him do it.”

“Ask me a question I know the answer to.” Gabriel takes a sip from the glass, his gaze wandering back to the wall where all the fleeting moments of banal happiness remained. “He was a good man.”

“Yes, he was. Sometimes, I wish…” She never finishes, interrupted by the ruckus.

One chair lies on the parquet. The man with a narrow face Jack has been stringing along for several weeks now stands with his arms outstretched and his white suit slowly turning pink where the wine from the thrown glass splashed. And Jack - Jack is walking away angrily.

“What did you do?” Gabriel glances at Amelie who smiles with satisfaction.

“Moi? I did no such thing.” She gives him a look full of studied innocence. “Was bound to happen, better sooner than later. New money and no taste, knows not the game.”

“Amelie.”

“Expensive, great year, so very hard to get. Crème de la crème. Utterly atrocious, but salaud like him cannot be expected to know his wines.” She smiles again and then points with her chin at the man storming off after Jack. “Go.”

“And I thought you didn’t approve,” Gabriel sighs.

“I don’t.”

He picks up his hat and follows through the back exit. The raised voices outside filter into the corridor and Gabriel leans on the door-frame observing the situation.

“Is there a problem?” He asks loud enough to be heard above the commotion when the man gets grabby.

“What are you, his pimp?” Gabriel shifts so the side of his jacket slides enough to show a glint of his piece.

“A concerned citizen.” Jack tears his wrist from the grip the now faltering man had on his arm and turns away from them both, but his shoulders tremble with silent fury. “Is there a problem?” Gabriel repeats. The man silently stalks back into the club - tries to bump into him but rethinks at the last moment - leaves instead with a ground out remark that puts him on Gabriel’s list.

“Teach your whores better manners.”

As he waits, it takes Jack a moment to force his emotions under control and when he turns there is still some anger simmering behind the mask of his face, his eyes glittering dangerously.

“I draw the line at being called cheap.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Gabriel offers. “Come.”

Jack almost stomps his foot - the gesture aborted in motion - and instantly deflates, his face showing only resigned weariness now.

“You don’t need to… Just… Just tell Amelie I’ll pay her back, tomorrow. I don’t think going back…” He shrugs and purses his lips.

“Don’t worry about that.” Gabriel pushes off the door-frame, into the street, to stand next to him. It’s rare for Jack to expose so much of himself where the prying eyes might be - those moments are among the treasured ones - and Gabriel offers him his arm. With a sigh, Jack slides his hand around his elbow.

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

The walk is slow and quiet. Somewhere along the way, Jack rests his head on his shoulder. It ends far too soon when they stop in front of his flat, still in the better part of the town. Jack fumbles with his keys, almost drops them once, but as he finally gets the door unlocked, and Gabriel readies to say his goodbyes, he turns.

“Coming in?”

Then he strides into the flat, leaving the door wide open behind him. Gabriel chuckles to himself and passes the threshold, secures the deadbolt to the unmistakable sound of the liquor cabinet - the little hitch and squeak of the hinge so specific it cannot be anything else - follows inside to see Jack pull the stopper off the bottle.

“Glass?” He asks just before bringing the bottle to his lips and Gabriel shakes his head.

The flat looks almost identical as the last time he had seen it; there is a new screen, painted vibrant blue with added golden dragons chasing clouds. All furniture crowding the limited space is the kind that is supposed to make the impression of being expensive but costs pennies. Everything around him is transitory - temporary in a way he is familiar with, to be left behind while everything of value fits into one case.

He had never voiced that, and does not intend to do so now, to say that Jack is living his life ready to drop all and run at the moment’s notice, maybe out of the fear that to say it out loud would make it a reality, so he accepts the offered bottle and stays silent. What follows is a ritual of sorts, one Gabriel took part in before: Jack spreading the gifts from his latest trick on the bed and selecting which to sell, which to keep, and which to throw out.

“And he called me cheap,” Jack drunkenly laughs, holding up a red scarf for him to see.

After all is sorted as neatly as it can be when there is only an inch of apple vodka remaining in the bottle, Jack puts on the music and they dance without balance. Gabriel feels like he is holding the entire world in his arms.

He wakes up damp and sticky in his clothes, with a crick in his neck and his back hurting, but Jack’s head is wedged under his chin so he remains motionless until the sun hits the windows at the right angle.

“Mornin’,” Jack mumbles as he brushes remains of a crushed praline off his chest and studies the stain left by it. “Oh. Draw a bath. I should have a shirt in your size,” he adds, sliding off the bed, fingers moving through his mussed hair.

The bathroom is more of an afterthought on the whole plan of the flat - cramped into the corner of the building - and the bathtub, which fills quickly, has almost no leg space. Regardless, Gabriel lowers himself into warm water with a sigh of relief and lets his eyes drift closed. He opens them to the smell of fresh coffee and Jack’s fingers on the nape of his neck slowly working the stiff muscles there. The shirt hanging over the mirror is one that somehow must have been left behind, but he cannot remember such an occurrence. Or Jack had pilfered it from the wardrobe in Gabriel’s apartment, or from his office, and he had been none the wiser. The thought makes him chuckle.

“Sorry. About yesterday. I lost my temper.”

“You ruined his suit with very expensive wine. I don’t see a downside.” The fingers stop their kneading and for a moment Gabriel regrets his words - until Jack slips into the tub sideways, with his back to the wall and knees over the rim. Some water splashes on the floor but he doesn’t seem to mind and reaches for the cup of the coffee.

“Was it? Expensive, I mean,” Jack asks between the sips of the coffee before he hands it to Gabriel.

“According to Amelie, yes, it was.”

“It was awful.” Jack pouts as Gabriel drinks, the bitter taste washing off the remnants of the night off his tongue.

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t drink wine.”

Jack takes the cup off his hands and finishes the coffee.

“Is there anywhere you have to be today?”

“Not that I know of.” And even if he had to, he would have lied anyway, and he wonders if Jack is aware of that. Hopes he is not.

“Then stay.”

Stay. Stay when Jack is ready to take to the sky like a frightened bird at the sound of a gunshot.

“You could leave. Go anywhere you want,” Gabriel blurts out and Jack leans into him - finds his hand in the water and holds it, twines their fingers together.

“Maybe. Someday,” he whispers with his cheek resting on Gabriel’s collarbone, “we could.”


End file.
